Red
by K.I.T.T. RIDER
Summary: This was her true self. And she had chosen her next victim. one-shot


**Title: **Red

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Blood, twisted romance, mentions of death

I don't own ZEXAL.

* * *

Every time she feels it, feels the weight of it in her palm, sees it sing through the air, a rush runs through her blood. She knows it's wrong, that she shouldn't be doing this, but she just can't help it. She enjoys it; killing is her high. Pure ecstasy floods her mind when she sees the blood, sees the red that's left on the ground and the wall and her hair and her skin and her clothes. The warmth of the red liquid makes her cackle with power.

Even when her white business suit is soaked -making her shiver because of how wet the clothes are-, even when her violet hair is dripping with the substance she loves to see fly, she still hasn't had enough. She was addicted to it, like a heroin addict would be. She couldn't handle not being able to slice her sword through someones neck (_He needs to suffer, she thinks_.), couldn't handle not seeing blood run and fly and squish under her feet.

It all started when she first trained to wield a sword, when she was fourteen. She remembered how powerful she felt as she swung the bladed hilt around, cutting the practice dummies she had used. She loved it, and was grateful when Mr. Heartland let her train more properly.

But she didn't feel fulfilled.

It was when she was attacked in the streets a year after she started training that she found out her true side. She still could feel and hear her attackers' screams and yells as she used her wooden sword on them. She had killed three; the other two were badly injured.

She enjoyed it.

For the first time, she felt pleasure from killing. Pleasure from seeing her enemies crumble and bleed and crack and break. Their scared faces just drove her happiness into unreadable, unreachable skies. She had felt some pleasured by it, she figured it was better than sex, but she had never even done such things.

She thought she was invincible, so unable to be beaten, she took her skills to the streets. At first, she had 'fun' with criminals, but then she wanted more, wanted something worse than a criminal, wanted to have a real fight for once.

That's when, after he saved her, she couldn't help but chase him.

He was the funnest person to toy with; she had to pretend to love him (Or maybe she did, because he was so much harder to get to than her other victims), pretend to care, pretend to sacrifice for him, pretend to try to understand what he's going through. She had to get close, get under his skin enough to see his emotions, see if he had any weak spots. For years, she did this, hiding under a cold persona, until she figured it out a year after the WDC.

Haruto. That was his weak spot.

It takes her less than three days to plot her killing; she takes Haruto and Dr. Faker, traps them, then kills them. When that's all done, she could lure him there with false hope that his relatives are still alive, still breathing, still crying out for him.

It's a cold Friday night when she sets her plan into action. She finds Haruto and Dr. Faker out in the park, but her main target is nowhere in sight. That's good, because her plan can now work perfectly.

She makes them come to her via phone call, telling them to meet her in a warehouse just outside Heartland. When they walk in, she launches herself from a corner, deciding to skip the torture part of her plan, and decapitates them both in one swing. Her blade paints the area in red, the walls and the floor and the ceiling (Amazing, she thinks.). Her skin and hair and clothes are soaked as the blood continues to spray from the bodies; she wants more of it.

Her blade sings through the air as she cuts and slices and slams the sword through flesh, bones, and organs. More of her favorite substance splatters everywhere, more and more and more. It excites her so much she has to roll in it, has to lick it, has to see more of it.

Disappointment fills her when she sees the no longer recognizable bodies have no more blood to give her, so she sends part two of her plan into action. Gripping a D-Gazer she pulled from the smaller of the two bodies (She can't remember whose who, because they're so dismantled it's impossible to recognize them anymore.), she dialed his number, shadowing herself so he doesn't see her face, tells him about his relatives-leaving out the slicing and dicing part-, then tells him her location. He angrily hangs up on her before she can say anything else, and she's happy.

Her excitement rises when she hears the roar of an engine, and when he runs inside she smiles from her hiding spot as he sees the gruesome scene before him. Seeing him sinking to his knees makes her smile, and her heart goes aflutter as she watches the tears start to fall from his eyes.

Banging her fist against a box, she waits for him to react, and it's only a second later that he looks up in her direction. She purposefully has some of her body in the fading light, but leaves her face and head shadowed.

"Come out here, now!" He yells, anger replacing his sadness. Angry tears stream down his cheeks, and it causes her to only smile wider.

"What kind of greeting is that?" she asks, slowly coming out of the shadows. His eyes widen and a gasp escape his pale lips as he sees her bloody body, pieces of flesh sticking to random places on her body. "You sure don't know how to treat a lady."

"D-Droite?"

The woman smiles at the mention of her name; it amuses her to hear the fear in his voice and see the anger in his eyes. She strides forward, walking with the grace of a black mamba. Her eyes are glittering with excitement as she nears him; he seems too shocked to move.

Then, as if a mental switch activated in his head, he growls and throws out his Photon Hand. Droite grunts as the glowing hand pierces her chest, but it does no damage.

He's shocked when he pulls the hand back and there isn't anything within its palm. He looks at her, confusion mingling with anger and sadness and fear.

"I have no soul," she cackles, smiling. She doesn't wait any longer; she runs forward and drives her sword into his chest, almost all the way to the hilt. A pop sounds and he slumps against her, blood beginning to pump out of the wound. She grins, yanking the sword out of his chest and dropping him to the ground. She kneels next to him, and his eyes meet her bloodshot ones.

"W...Why?" he coughs, blood spewing from his mouth. Droite doesn't blink as it hits her face, dirtying it farther.

"I enjoy it," she tells him, smiling so wide she could snap her front teeth off. "I love seeing blood, I love how it feels, but most of all..." She leans in, close enough that he can feel her breath on his face. "I love the hunt."

He looks up at her in fear, before hacking painfully one last time. His body goes limp, and she assumes he dies. There's was only one thing she had to do now, though.

_Play._

__But before she does, she smirks and tells his dead body, "Perhaps I did truly love you, Kaito. You were my funnest prey yet."

And then she stands and rears her blade once more.

**FINISH**


End file.
